The house I grew up in Whittier California was situated on almost an acre of land. The house was toward the front of the property and the backyard was a grove of various fruit and nut trees, black berries, a bee hive, sheds and of course the chicken house.
Yep, farm animals right there in the middle of a LA suburb.
Chickens were not the only creatures my father would bring around. Rabbits, turkeys, dogs and cats also grazed our pastures. But these were not the best of the bunch...
One day, while my mom was at work, my dad brought home a goat. A goat! Clarence the goat. Clarence was the typical goat. Running a muck. Chewing everything in sight. My dad even concocted a harness that hooked to our wagon and he dragged us around the yard (poor goat).
My mother was not happy with this new member of our family, but my brother and I were smitten. However, Clarence's stay was short lived when my mom came home from work, found that he had chewed his way threw the screen door on our backdoor and found him standing on our kitchen table.
I don't know where Clarence went. But there isn't a whole lot of time that passes that we don't talk about the goat incident.
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